"That a Heart Cannot be Made of Ice"
It was strange. The feeling of Goemon awakening. That power which welled within me was unlike any I had ever felt. Our icy powers became one almost too as if he was mocking the ice now dwelling within my heart. And my strength was merely born from the rage I tried so hard to hide.
My sensei...could not truly be as evil as he seems...correct?
But...I saw that horrendous museum with my own eyes. It would be hard to deny something like that. His greed overtook his desire to create. How could I have been so blind to such a thing?!
It was hard to admit, even as he kneeled at our feet that you had all been right. I couldn't quite grasp the concept that the man I saw as a father had wronged me so. Perhaps I never will.
Once that palace was gone…
Palace.
What an unusual name for such a gaudy place. There had been nothing beautiful in such a disaster. In that palace I could only see the embodiment of wanton greed. To think that came from the heart of my sensei.
For days I holed up, staring at a blank canvas. I assured you all I was fine. But even artists hide pain within beauty and hang it for all to see. I was no different, of course. My mind, even with the help of Goemon, could not accept the truth laid bare before me.
My creativity seemed to have died as that palace crumbled and I knew not what to do to gain it back. All I wanted to do was lay down and pretend that things might go back to how they once were. But, even in my uncertainty, I knew there was no chance of that.
Then, after Madarame admitted to the things I already knew, you came to me.
Despite my uncertain words, you spoke with me.
In spite of my eccentric personality, you managed to stay around.
I must admit, I do not remember the last time someone chose to do such a thing without a reason. Even sensei seemed only to long to perfect the artist I was growing to be.
In time, I realized you even came to see me as a friend.
Perhaps that friendship is why I had to admit to myself, no one's heart can truly be so cold. In time, I would be able to see the multifaceted faces of those around me as well as the beauty of the world. Through your calm words and sometimes flustered motions at my lack of social etiquette, I came to find that a heart cannot be made of ice.
Even my own.
Surely, I use the bufu skills for a reason but it is not because I cannot feel. Rather it is the lack of sunshine given to the garden within my soul. How is beauty to blossom in a place so dreary after all?
For the briefest of moments, I considered giving up my aspirations of becoming an artist. Even as you all knew little of me and my past, though more than I had previously shared with another, you all wished me not to stray. Was it because my art was actually good or perhaps it was more than that. I had planned to stay with you, in that plain attic above LeBlanc and find a new life. One no longer tainted by the curse of artistry and politics dancing together in what is surely a most wretched waltz. Without much falter, you agreed to allow me to stay. Though, looking back, I fear I had not given you much option.
That night, if it is fair to me to say so, was the first true glimpse of sunshine I was ever able to see.